10. Charlie
10
Charlie
“How is it that I’m the only one in our family who doesn’t know how to ski?” Bea asks. She’s dressed in navy snow pants and Naomi braided her hair this morning after breakfast while Bea applied some makeup.
We’re at Sirens’ Valley Lodge on Sunday morning, and it’s taken us almost an hour and a half to get everyone ski passes and rentals going. I’m sweating in my layers, having made sure everyone’s stuff got carried from the gear counter to a cluster of picnic tables where most of the family is sitting and having an early lunch from the snack bar.
The call that woke Bea up was Arlo. He had a few questions for me about the due diligence—mostly around my sales staff contracts—and wanted to catch me before the day got started. He’d been just as surprised as I was that I’d slept in past seven—vacation was getting to me.
But talking to Arlo first thing in the morning was exactly the wake-up call I needed to get some work done before the house was awake, and I was feeling productive already today.
“Honey, you’re not the only one.” Mom pats Bea’s hand.
“Okay, but you’re choosing not to ski, and that’s totally fair. But like, we went to Pithole for years and no one ever skied there.”
“That’s because Pithole was a pit hole,” Yvette says.
That’s not entirely accurate because my dad grew up in the area and that’s where he learned to ski, but Dad doesn’t defend his hometown, either because he’s warmed up to the luxuries of Here, New York, or because the chicken tenders basket he got is getting cold and he’s too busy eating it.
“Well, you know we went to Maine for our thirtieth anniversary,” Erik says, slinging an arm around Jody and pulling her into a snuggle.
“I won the over-sixty beginner race that week,” Jody adds proudly.
“Fine. And you two I get”—Bea points between Yvette and Lance, who live in Chicago—“because lake-effect snow and Montana boy. And I know Naomi went with friends from her running club. But you two?” Now she points at Kayla and Jasper.
“What, are you saying Black people can’t ski?” he teases.
“No, I’m saying someone who grew up in Louisiana and now lives in Florida doesn’t have many opportunities to learn to ski.”
“My athletic prowess knows no bounds.”
“I think the real question,” Yvette interjects, “is why don’t you know how to ski?”
“Well.” Bea frowns and picks at her french fries. “I guess I haven’t had anyone to go with.”
There’s a heavy moment of silence around the table while Erik and Jody give each other concerned looks.
“Well, that’s going to change today,” I say. “You’ve got a lesson in half an hour.”
Bea looks up. “Wait, what? I have to take a lesson? Why can’t one of you teach me?” She looks pointedly at her sisters.
Kayla holds up her hands. “Last time I tried to teach you something you told me I made you look like a vampire.”
“You had used a concealer two shades too pale and black mascara!”
“I was eighteen and in beauty school!”
“Girls, enough,” Jody says.
“Dad?” Bea asks.
“Sorry, pumpkin. I’ve got my own snow bunny to keep track of. Besides, you know what they call a slow skier? A slope-poke.”
There’s a collective groan.
Bea pouts. “So I’m the remedial skier. Great.”
“You didn’t ask Charlie to teach you,” Kayla says, lifting an eyebrow.
I interrupt. “She doesn’t have to because she’s taking a lesson and I’ve already lined up the instructor.” My plan is to hit the slopes with my dad and Bea’s parents for a while and then check on Bea after her lesson and see if she wants to do the bunny slope. She’ll do way better with a professional ski instructor than with me anyway. I’m good enough for a small-town ski resort, but she’ll get more out of a paid lesson.
Besides, I’m happy to treat.
Bea and Naomi pester Jasper on his skiing skills while everyone else finishes their food, and then we hit the slopes. I’m in line for the ski lift with the rest of the family, but I can see Bea over by the bunny slope. I keep glancing over as we get closer to the lift, growing more and more concerned by what I see.
The ski instructor is a young guy, maybe early twenties, and something he says makes Bea laugh. Her dimples come out in full force and he touches her arm. Objectively, he’s a good-looking guy, but he’s too young for her, right?
What interest would she have in dating a college kid?
“Okay, we’re up,” Jody says, followed by a “weeeeee” as she slides down the tiny incline to get in position for the chair. Dad and Erik got on the previous one while I wasn’t paying attention, so now I’m going to be riding with Bea’s mom.
I cast one more glance at Bea—she’s still laughing? Are they actually going to get any skiing in or are they just going to flirt?
The chair knocks into the back of my knees and I pinwheel my arms to keep my balance, sending one of my poles flying, and I get a solid seat on the bench bare milliseconds before my skis come off the ground.
“Shit, sorry!” I shout down to the rapidly shrinking lift attendant. “I’ll come back for it!”
Who knows if they heard me, but I’ll take the easiest run down and should be fine with just one pole.
“You okay?” Jody grins at me. I’ve always liked Bea’s mom, though I don’t spend a lot of time alone with her.
“Yup, fine, sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t. Seems like you are distracted this year, though.”
I hum and glance back toward the bunny slope, but I can’t make out Bea and her ski instructor.
“Charlie?”
“Right, sorry. Yeah, kind of distracted, I guess.”
“Does my daughter have anything to do with your move to New York?”
Jody studies me as I struggle to come up with an answer. The Cummingses have always treated me like the son they never had, and I hate that I signed an NDA and can’t tell the whole truth. “Not directly,” I finally say, “but it’ll be a nice side benefit, I hope.”
“Well, you sure are pulling out all the stops this year. Seems like your company is doing really well.” Jody kicks her ski, nonchalant about the financial meddling that I’ve already fought with my dad about on this trip.
“What do you mean?”
Jody smiles. “Well, I figured our trip was being subsidized somehow, because there’s no way that what Erik and I paid covers a majority of that house.”
“Maybe we got a good deal.”
“Ah, yes, that’s what it was. You’re a prime negotiator.”
We come to the top of the mountain and then we’re too busy skiing to talk about anything other than the trails. It’s a smaller resort than I’ve been used to out west, so by the time my watch alarm goes off to signal the end of Bea’s lesson, I’ve done all the runs and know exactly where to take her next.
I come off the front black diamond and slide toward the bunny slope. I scan the people coming down its gentle hill and spot Bea before she spots me. She’s smiling and confident, skiing alongside her instructor.
Spotting me, she waves and points her skis in my direction. She slides to a halt a little short and uses her poles to push herself forward before lifting her goggles onto her helmet.
“Hi,” she says, breathless and smiling. Her cheeks are rosy pink from the cold and exertion.
“Hey, how was your lesson?”
“Great! Great, right?” She turns to the ski instructor.
“Yeah, she did a great job. I’m Gavin.” He offers his hand and I shake it.
“Charlie.”
“Okay, well, Bea, any questions for me?”
“No, I’m ready.”
“Great, glad to hear it. If you want to book another session, I’m happy to work with you on the bigger slopes. But I’m sure your partner can take over from here.”
“He’s not my partner,” she blurts.
“Not anymore,” I say. “We were together. Before.”
“A long time ago.” Bea’s smile is gone and she’s widening her eyes at me, the universal sign for Shut up.
Except I kinda can’t. “Not that long ago.”
“Eight years is a long time, Charlie,” Bea says, an edge in her voice.
“Well, okay then.” Gavin chuckles uncomfortably. “Have a great time up on the mountain, Bea. Charlie.” He nods goodbye, and in a smooth move, presses the tip of one pole to the binding, which pops one foot out, then that foot steps on the other binding and he’s free. He nudges his toes under the base and kicks each ski up and hoists them over his shoulder.
“Show off,” I mutter.
Bea glares at me. “Not a long time?” she echoes.
“Feels like yesterday,” I say cheerfully.
“Is this a green?” Bea asks while looking directly at the sign with the big green dot on it.
“Yup,” I assure her.
“But is it, like, an easy green?”
I laugh. “Yes, this is the easiest of easy greens. I did all the runs today and this one is the best.”
She’s still skeptical. “It looks really steep.”
“It’s not that bad. And I’ll be right here with you.”
“Okay.”
We stand there a moment, other groups getting off the ski lift and gliding past us down the hill.
“Do you want me to go first?”
She nods.
“Okay. Goggles on.” She follows instructions and I push myself over the small lip. I swoosh-swoosh-swoosh and slide to a stop fifty feet or so from Bea. “Your turn,” I shout back.
Bea shuffles her skis over to the edge and braces herself. Carefully, she tips over the side, but her skis are angled in. She’s pizza-ing down the slope, but picking up speed.
“French fry!” I shout at her.
“What?” She’s going faster now, and her mouth is making an O, and not the good kind.
“You’re pizza-ing! You need to french fry!”
Bea passes me too fast, unable to stop. “I’M NOT HUNGRY!” she shouts, but there’s fear laced in her voice. She’s out of control and zooming past.
A kid no older than five whips by me and then zips past Bea too close for comfort. Bea jerks and loses the battle against her skis. They cross over each other and she tumbles down with a shriek.
Complete yard sale.